


What Happens in Braavos

by Lady_in_Red



Series: Spy Games [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Ficlet, Series, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Brienne takes unnecessary risks to protect Jaime on a mission in Braavos.





	What Happens in Braavos

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic falls between Brienne v. the Book Club and Truth or Dare chronologically, but it reads better if you read it last. If you haven't read the first two in this series, I strongly suggest at least reading Truth or Dare. It will make more sense that way. (Also helps if you're a book reader.) But it does stand alone.

_ “Choose: him or you.” Catelyn sounded almost normal, as if they were discussing where to go for lunch. But the noose in her hands made her ultimatum impossible to forget. _

_ The band of petty criminals who called themselves the Brotherhood jeered at Brienne, but another clumsy jab at her size and looks couldn’t wound her now. Jaime, on the other hand, looked murderous. “Say that again, you dickless shit,” he growled, and the man in the filthy yellow motorcycle jacket backhanded him. Jaime spat blood, straining against the men holding his arms.  _

_ Catelyn watched them with bright blue eyes and a rictus grin, unnerving in its intensity. She hadn’t been the same since her sons were killed, and no one had blamed her for taking a sabbatical from the agency. No one connected her with the missing asset Podrick Payne and his handler Hyle Hunt. No one realized how determined she was to punish those she held responsible for her family’s deaths.  _

_ Brienne and Jaime had had no idea what they were walking into, and one of them would pay for that tonight.  _

_ “Me,” Brienne answered, trying to keep her voice even. _

_ “What? No, Brienne.” Jaime struggled harder, begging with increasing desperation even as two men dragged Brienne out of the cave. He needed no prodding to follow them.  _

_ Catelyn wanted him to watch. She laughed harshly as she followed them all, passing the noose to one of her men. The tree wasn’t far, just at the edge of the clearing, strong and bearing rope burns that told Brienne they weren’t bluffing. They’d done this before. _

_ Brienne was having trouble focusing, blood dripping into her eye where one of them had pistol-whipped her. But Jaime was clear enough, his eyes locked on hers. She kept her gaze fixed on Jaime, willing him into that calm, deadly state he found so easily when he held a rifle. No hesitation, no fear, no uncertainty.  _

_ She ignored the others, the feel of their rough hands on her, the taunts and insults and even when they spat on her.  _

_ And then the rough rope circled her neck and she was hoisted up. The nylon cut into her throat, cut off her air, pain stabbing through her jaw as her teeth snapped shut, her face wrenched up by the pressure of the tightening rope. The last thing she saw was Jaime wrenching a dagger from one of his captors.  _

 

* * *

Brienne’s first reaction to the tiny apartment off the Canal of Heroes was simple gratitude that they’d reached their safehouse without further incident. Her second was that it wasn’t much of an improvement on the foggy night outside. Why did their first mission after the Riverlands have to include running from trained fighters in the cold instead of surveillance on a beach somewhere? 

As Jaime closed and double bolted the door behind them, Brienne searched the dimly-lit space, her heart still pounding from their flight through the city. It didn't take long. The single cramped room had a stovetop and tiny refrigerator on one wall, a double bed shoved against the other, and a bathtub and toilet half-concealed behind a mildewed curtain. The air reeked of old grease from the fish and chips shop downstairs. For a moment she missed the little house they'd briefly shared in Gulltown, six months and more than a dozen missions ago. 

"What were you thinking?" he growled, snapping her out of her reverie. 

Brienne turned to find Jaime standing there with his wet hair and dripping clothes, his eyes burning with fury. She didn't need to ask what he was talking about. 

Half an hour ago, a pair of over-muscled, under-brained bravos had tried to rob them of the intel they’d crossed the Narrow Sea to obtain. Running through unfamiliar streets with the bravos hot on their heels, Jaime had jumped into a canal, aiming for a passing gondola. Brienne never saw the boat, diving after him in a panic and capsizing the little gondola. 

It was stupid, Jaime was fine, he'd been furious with her for jumping in after him, but Brienne had seen him jump and she'd panicked. No matter how many years passed, she’d never forgotten Galladon plunging into the waves and never coming back.

"It was instinct." She raked damp hair off her forehead, tried not to wonder how filthy those canals were. 

"And now we're both freezing and our weapons are useless." Jaime shucked off his jacket, unbuckled his holster and tossed the pistol onto the counter. His shirt swiftly followed, exposing a fresh scar across his ribs. With a pang, she remembered the Brotherhood’s wickedly sharp knives. Jaime had killed four men, rescuing herself and two others after Brienne lost consciousness.

Her teeth were chattering, and Brienne rubbed the goosebumps on her arms, trying to warm herself. Water droplets raced down her spine.

Jaime frowned as he looked at her, closed the distance between them. "Come on, get out of those wet clothes. You're shaking, and your lips are blue."

He tugged off her sodden jacket, reached around and unfastened the holster at the small of her back. His hands lingered on her back as she shivered in his grasp. 

“Promise me you won’t do that again.” The edge in his voice was unmistakable. 

She started to unbutton her shirt, but her cold-numbed fingers fumbled the buttons until Jaime pushed her hands aside and took over the task. 

“Do what?” Brienne asked, trying to ignore how Jaime’s hand brushed against her breast, how out of breath she still was. Too much time off her feet recovering. She'd be a liability on missions until she regained her stamina. 

“Risk yourself to save me," he snapped. 

"I didn't. It was just a canal,” she protested. 

"You dove in headfirst without a clue what was down there. You just don't think. You never do." Jaime’s voice was rough. His hand came up to her throat, caressing the healing rope burn, the bruises finally faded. 

If anyone else had touched her like that, Brienne would have broken his hand. For Jaime, she lifted her chin slightly, letting his fingers spread out, his thumb gently stroking her skin. She closed her eyes, a shuddering breath escaping her.

When she opened her eyes, Jaime was looking at her the same way he had that night: intent, angry, desperate. "Promise me, Blue." 

She couldn't. Not then, as Catelyn's goons had hanged her from a tree. Not now, with Jaime's eyes burning into her and his hand slipping around to the back of her neck. They were trained to prioritize the mission, the objective, over fellow agents. That should have been easy with Jaime as her partner. Jaime had never pretended to be a good man. He was a weapon, death silent and swift. Jaime should scare her. 

But he didn't. Jaime had killed for her, stitched her back together, proven his loyalty in half a hundred ways. Brienne couldn’t put into words what he was to her. The thought of losing Jaime made her ill.

Brienne traced his scar with her fingertips. She could feel Jaime breathing hard, warm and alive. She wouldn’t ask him to promise anything. Jaime was good at many things. Impulse control was not one of them. 

He glanced down at her pale hand against his tanned skin, and when his eyes met hers again, his hand tightened against the back of her neck. Jaime pulled her to him, slow and steady, until his lips met hers.

Brienne froze, a moment or a minute passed, she wasn't sure. Her eyes had closed without her permission, and she was keenly aware of Jaime’s mouth, warm and insistent against hers, his hand in her hair and his arm around her waist. The briny scent of the canal clung to his skin, unfamiliar but oddly not unpleasant. 

Despite her wet clothes and hair, heat flared in her stomach, seeped into her rushing blood. Brienne captured his lower lip between hers, felt his smile against her mouth. Jaime deepened the kiss, and she clutched at his shoulders, dug her nails into the muscles of his arms as he drew sounds from her somewhere between a sigh and a moan. 

Jaime had kissed her before—soft, almost chaste kisses always for an audience, window dressing to solidify their cover or hide their faces. Precise, finely tuned to the situation, no different from a well-placed shot. 

There was nothing soft or chaste about his hands stripping off her sodden shirt, popping off the last button in his haste. Jaime explored her mouth and jaw with lips and tongue and teeth as his hands moved over her bra, teasing her breasts through the cotton. 

Brienne forced her eyes open as Jaime’s lips skimmed down her throat. He growled when he reached the noose’s mark, tracing the fading scars with his tongue. 

No one was watching them in this tiny, grimy apartment. The mission was over, no covers to hide behind. This was Jaime kissing Brienne, Jaime fumbling open the clasp of her bra and sucking and nipping her neck and chest hard enough to bruise. 

“Jaime,” she gasped, one hand knotted in his hair. 

His breath was hot on her skin, his hand splayed across her bare back. “Do you want me to stop?”

Stop? Gods no, Brienne didn't want him to stop. He was alive and unhurt and she wanted him. She couldn't stop touching Jaime, made him shiver as her fingers released his hair, skated down his back, found the dimples at the base of his spine. 

“Brienne,” Jaime prompted, needy and breathless, drawing her closer until she could feel him hard against her hip.

“Don’t stop.” She was dizzy, heart thudding in her ears, lost in the feel of his rough hands on her skin, the dark hunger in his eyes when he looked up at her. Her nails dragged lightly along his lower back and his side, his stomach twitched under her fingertips. Brienne gripped his belt, tugged him with her as they stumbled to the small bed. Their remaining clothes came away swiftly, impatient hands working buttons and buckles. 

The bed springs squeaked in protest as they hit the ancient mattress in a tangle of limbs. The blanket was rough against her back, Jaime’s stubble lightly scratching her sensitive skin as he kissed her throat, her chest, drew her nipple into his hot mouth. He nipped her breast, levered himself up on shaking arms to hover over her. “Don’t leave me, Blue.” 

Brienne opened her mouth to answer, but the words stuck in her throat. Less than a year together, and she could no longer imagine life without him. Her eyes filled with tears. 

“No, no, none of that,” he murmured, lowering himself against her, kissing a tear from her temple as it fell. His hands framed her face, he kissed her lips softly, tenderly. 

She didn’t want to cry, not now, not ever again. She didn’t want to think. She only wanted to feel. Brienne wrapped her legs around his hips, one arm around his shoulders. Her other hand slipped between them, found his cock and stroked it once in her fist. 

Jaime gasped. “Gods, Blue, yes,” he hissed as she did it again. 

She was used to quick tumbles in dark rooms. Seeing his eyes so close, so dark, made her feel needy, greedy for every bit of pleasure they could find in each other. Brienne tilted her hips, and groaned as he slipped easily inside her.

Her hand found his ass as he started to thrust, deep and strong. His muscles flexed under her palm, his lips danced from her mouth to her cheek, hot breath on her ear. “Tell me,” he whispered, “what you need.”

Brienne usually preferred to be on top, felt smothered trapped beneath a man’s body. Right now she craved the weight of him, the sheer bulk and power of him. Jaime’s thrusts were slowly pushing her up the bed, but it wasn’t enough. When she closed her eyes, she could still see him disappearing over the side of the bridge, still see his bloodied face and shining eyes in the cave. “Harder.” She reached up and braced herself against the wall behind them. 

Jaime obliged, hooking one arm under her leg to open her further to him. Brienne bit her lip to hold in a scream as he pounded into her. She felt full and scalding hot and every thrust sent her flying higher until she could scarcely breathe. She was nearly sobbing but she welcomed the pain, the frenzy, the feel of his teeth against her shoulder, the fevered words that washed over her. 

His breathing changed, his thrusts speeding up, and his nose bumped her cheek as he pulled back to look into her face. His jaw was tight, his eyes wild and desperate. 

Brienne let go of the wall, slid her hand along his sweaty cheek, into his hair, and pulled his face down to hers. The kiss was sloppy, his body grinding against hers slick and fast, and then she was falling, shaking, pleasure seizing her by the throat, her breath locked in her chest. 

Jaime shuddered and cried out, his body pinning her down. He stayed there, wrapped around her like a kraken around a ship, for so long she wondered if he’d fallen asleep inside her. 

Finally, Brienne pressed a hand to his shoulder, and Jaime slowly pulled out of her, flopped to his back and dragged her against him. This was usually when she would slip out of bed, clean up and leave, but Jaime’s arm was wrapped firmly around her back, his lips to her forehead. 

“Don’t go,” he mumbled sleepily. 

They'd been chased across two continents, sunken ships, and broken up a gang of slavers. They'd been shot, stabbed, and hanged. 

One night, just for them, didn't seem like too much to ask. So she stayed, entwined with Jaime in a creaky old bed, and tried not to think about tomorrow.

 


End file.
